


The Beginning of Trust

by Aluxra



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 21:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15155798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aluxra/pseuds/Aluxra
Summary: Hanzo and Zenyatta meet on the road to Overwatch.





	The Beginning of Trust

**Author's Note:**

> I hate titles, and this is roughly edited so I'll probably go back and redo it again. 
> 
> Also might add more chapters in future, but that's a big if depending on more than just inspiration right now.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy xXx

The night was cool, but pleasant: the year was closing in on autumn, and the high, humid, heat of summer that drove most inside was subduing to crisper air. The streets weren’t crowded or loud at this time of night, and although the light pollution of the city hid the stars, the late-night walk Zenyatta had indulged in was still enjoyable. It allowed him the opportunity to reflect upon his choice to follow his student - though in truth, he would call him less and less his student and more his friend – Genji, to join the recalled Overwatch after much deliberation.

 

He had considered the repercussions and the risks of undertaking such an illegal endeavour. However, the right path was not without its obstacles, and while he had spent the last year providing spiritual guidance to Genji when he asked of it during his renewed role in the new Overwatch, it had become increasingly clear that he could no longer stand aside and allow others to fight alone. He had not questioned his decision further, his faith unwavering as he finally began the journey west, following Genji’s directions through Asia and Europe, whispers of the enigmatic Overwatch and the agents that remained out somewhere in the world surfacing the closer he came to his destination.

 

A clatter from the nearby alley drew his attention, and Zenyatta stopped, turning towards it. Cocking his head, he approached carefully, the light from the streetlamps stopping short of the alleyway mouth. He stopped at the edge, peering into the darkness, the sound of gagging and retching reaching his ears.

 

Perhaps simply a drunk who was purging his body of the toxins he’d ingested.

 

Zenyatta waited at the mouth of the alleyway as the retching and gagging sounds tapered off, followed by the clatter and crash of trashcans as the man made his way out of the alley, stumbling and wavering. He reached out one hand to steady himself against the wall, leaning heavily into it as he wiped his free hand down his face, smearing sweat and blood across his cheeks and nose. His hands were bruised, scraped and bleeding at the knuckles. A large gash on his head gave Zenyatta the impression of what was causing the man’s unsteadiness, and he waited for the man to notice him as he stumbled to the end of the alleyway.

 

The man nearly ran into him before he saw Zenyatta, drawing to a sharp halt and taking a half step back, glaring at Zenyatta as he studied him up and down. Zenyatta took a moment to process the man’s appearance under his injuries: black hair streaked with grey at the temples, sharp cheekbones, hard, suspicious brown eyes that glared at Zenyatta under a broad brow, his mouth twisted into a scowl. His bag was slung over his back, and Zenyatta could see the end of a bow peeking out from the flap at the top.

 

“What the hell are you staring at?” the man snarled, taking another half step back. He leaned heavily on the wall, his free hand reaching up to hold the side of his head.

 

“My apologies, friend, I did not mean to startle you,” Zenyatta replied, holding up his hands, palms out in truce. “I merely wished to express my concern on your current condition and offer my aid.”

 

“I do not require help, from you or anyone else,” the man growled. He pushed himself away from the wall, swayed, and leaned against it again, bracing his weight against the stone.

 

“I believe I must insist,” Zenyatta said. “Your symptoms present a high possibility of a head injury. If you do not receive any assistance, I fear the consequences will be quite serious for you.”

 

The man scoffed, shaking his head, wincing when he did so. “What do you care?”

 

“I am a Shambali monk, and I possess healing abilities granted through the Iris,” he explained. “I have the ability to help, therefore, it is my duty to do so.”

 

To prove his point, he plucked a single golden orb from the cluster around his neck. The delicate inlays of lines and holes carved into the surface emitted a warm golden light, making the orb glow with an otherworldly radiance as it hung in the air above Zenyatta’s palm. The light washed over the hard lines of the man’s face, his harsh expression softening as he relaxed, his eyes sweeping closed. He leaned towards the light, basking in the warmth that radiated from the golden orb. His superficial injuries began to heal: his nose stopped bleeding and the lacerations on his hands and face closed in neat lines and faded to nothing. The orb floating above Zenyatta’s palm pulsed, its power driving further into the man before him, seeking out deeper pain to soothe and heal.

 

The man suddenly jerked back, away from the light, as if stung by it. The scowl returned to his face, his dark glare boring holes into Zenyatta.

 

“Enough!” he snarled, slashing his hand through the air in a downward cut, like it was a barrier between them. “I do not need your meddling! Now, move out of my way, or I will move… you…”

 

He swayed, his eyes rolling up into his head as he lost consciousness and fell forward. Zenyatta sprang forward, catching him half way down. The orbs laying dormant around his neck flared into life and rose into an orbit around Zenyatta’s head, glowing brightly as they spun at increasing speeds. The wounds that he could see continued to heal despite the brief interruption, the healing energy pouring deeper into the body he held in order to undo the damage caused by whatever the man had encountered.

 

Zenyatta’s secondary sensors pinged while his attention was focused on the man in his arms, and he looked up sharply. Looking around the alleyway, he searched for the additional human presences that had alerted his sensors. There were none, and Zenyatta had a growing suspicion that whoever the man had encountered, Zenyatta would meet them soon if he did not leave. He glanced at the unconscious man, his healing orbs needing more time to complete their work, and Zenyatta no longer considered waiting for them to do so out in the open an option. Glancing around one last time, he picked the man up in his arms and sped down the street, calculating how best to lose any pursuers that thought it wise to follow him.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo awoke in an unfamiliar room and immediately bolted upright, searching for his bow. The sudden movement caused his head to spin, a black curtain shuttering across his vision and upsetting his stomach. He fell back onto the bed he lay on, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands to temper the headache that sprang on him and sucking in deep breaths through his nose to avoid emptying his stomach for the second time that night. If someone wished to kill him, they had the opportune moment. Although, given his current state of still-living, if someone wished him dead they would’ve seen it done by now, so perhaps he could allow himself the luxury to regain some stability before attempting to move again.

 

“You shouldn’t move so quickly,” a synthetic voice said nearby. “You knocked your head rather badly, you need to rest.”

 

Hanzo lowered his hands from his face and cracked an eye open, seeking out the source of the voice. The omnic he had stumbled into earlier sat cross-legged on the floor at the end of the bed, his head and shoulders peeking out above the mattress. He sat so that he could view the single door and the shuttered window of the small room at the same time. The cluster of strange golden orbs he possessed hovered around him, one breaking away from the orbit to hang over Hanzo’s head, pulsing with the same glowing energy Hanzo felt earlier. Their glow was the only light in the room, casting soft, distorted shadows across the omnic.

 

“Where am I?” he asked, carefully pushing himself up onto his elbows. His jacket, hoodie, and boots had been removed, but otherwise he was still fully clothed. His bag sat next to his bed, Stormbow and his quiver remaining untouched.

 

“You are in my temporary lodgings,” the omnic explained. “Considering how unlikely it was that you got those injuries simply from a bar fight, I thought that taking you to a hospital would create more trouble for you than less.”

 

“You thought correct,” Hanzo agreed, pushing himself up further till he was sitting upright. He closed his eyes again, resting his elbow on one knee and rubbing his head against the spiking headache. The orb above him flared at the same time, another wave of warm light washing over Hanzo. He huffed, pushing it away in irritation. It bounced in the air, and spun right back to hover over him, pulsing rhythmically.

 

“If you remain still, your headache will heal faster.”

 

“I cannot afford to be still,” he replied, pushing the quilt away and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His bracers hadn’t been touched, which he was immensely grateful for; had the omnic decided to take them, he would have been at a dangerous disadvantage. He still was at a disadvantage, with no knowledge of where his assailants were and when they would next strike.

 

“I have no desire to cause you any harm, and those who would wish you harm lost my trail as I was bringing you here,” the omnic said, as if reading his mind. “I only wish to aid, to the best of my ability, before we part ways.”

 

“And what, pray tell, do _you_ get out of this?” Hanzo asked, looking over his shoulder at the omnic.

 

“I believe a good deed is its own reward,” the omnic replied. Hanzo snorted. “I have no desire to ask anything from you, either. I merely wished to help.”

 

“I suppose I should thank you, then,” Hanzo said grudgingly. It wasn’t that he was _ungrateful_ , but the night had worn his patience and his tolerance for other people thin. Plus, waking up in a strange room with a strange omnic had not improved his mood despite it evidently improving his health. He glanced up at the orb circling his head and batted it away. It shot through the air until it came to a halt, then sped back to its original position. He scowled up at it.

 

“No thanks are necessary, my friend.”

 

Hanzo sighed, dropping his chin to his chest and shutting his eyes. He had no idea what the omnic wanted, and no energy to figure it out. “You are very frustrating, do you know that?”

 

The omnic chuckled quietly. “My brother shared your sentiments.”

 

Hanzo cocked his head, looking at the him again.

 

“You have a brother? You mean the other…” Hanzo wracked his brain for what the omnic had called himself before he had blacked out, “the Shambali monks?”

 

“Had,” the omnic corrected him after a sombre pause. “He was killed.”

 

“I’m… sorry for your loss,” Hanzo said, wishing he had not spoken, as his thoughts turned to his original purpose that had brought him so far into Southern Europe. Plus, the condolences felt hollow and bitter on his tongue after everything he had done to his own. “The brother you speak of, do you mean Mondatta?”

 

“Yes, I do,” the omnic replied sadly. “He was not just a brother among the Shambali. We were built in the same Omnium, not too long apart. We are as close as brothers as we can be.”

 

Hanzo nodded. “Is that why you are here? Are you taking a pilgrimage to his monument?”

 

The omnic shook his head. “No. As much as I would like to visit my brother’s monument, my path leads me elsewhere to where I am most needed.”

 

“The Shambali temple is in Nepal, is it not?” Hanzo asked. “You must be greatly needed to be so far from home.”

 

“And you yourself are Japanese, yes?” the omnic said, evading Hanzo’s unasked question. “You have come a long way and risked almost dying in an alleyway for it, you must have somewhere important to be, yourself.”

 

Hanzo huffed, ducking his head. “I wouldn’t say it is important, but… there is somewhere I need to be, whether good or bad may come of it.”

 

“Why would you fear something bad would come of it?” the omnic asked, cocking his head curiously.

 

“I have done more bad than good in the past,” Hanzo answered honestly. “I fear I will never be able to redeem myself of my mistakes.”

 

“And yet you still seek to try. You have a greater chance of finding redemption than you think.”

 

“You can’t know that for sure,” Hanzo said.

 

“Neither can you,” he countered.

 

Hanzo smiled wryly. “You are very frustrating, do you know that?”

 

The omnic laughed, and Hanzo’s smile softened at the sound. It was a pleasant sound, though perhaps it was simply the influence of the healing orbs still hovering around them causing a sense of peace and harmony within him.

 

“What is your name?”

 

“My name is Tekhartha Zenyatta, although I simply go by Zenyatta,” Zenyatta introduced, inclining his head in a bow. “And yours?”

 

“My name…” Hanzo paused, considered using a fake name. Perhaps it was the influence of the orb, but he decided for honesty. “My name is Hanzo.”

 

_Hanzo._

 

“Hanzo,” Zenyatta repeated. The name pricked at his memory, though he couldn’t immediately place it. His first thought went to Genji, and he filtered through his collected knowledge of everything Genji had shared with him, names of people from his past that he made the effort to mention. A sneaking suspicion rose in his mind a moment before his memories clicked into place of the Japanese archer wandering alone on a road with no clear destination, seeking redemption after killing his brother – his brother who Zenyatta considered his pupil and friend.

 

Zenyatta studied Hanzo closer, wondering if it was merely coincidence but no, he could see the likeness in the man before him to the single photograph Genji had kept with him, stolen from the abandoned chambers of the Shimada castle after the assault from Blackwatch had decimated the clan numbers. Genji had spoken of his brother increasingly over the last year or so after he had confronted him on the anniversary of his own death, seeking his aid in the rising fight, and his frustration that Hanzo continued to wander his own path with no clear destination.

 

It seemed as though Hanzo had finally found where his path leads and had taken Genji’s offer.

 

Hanzo sighed, shifting where he sat. “I should leave.”

 

“You can stay, if you wish, and rest. I am leaving tomorrow morning; I would like to offer to travel with you, for however long our paths merge,” Zenyatta offered. He had a suspicion their paths would remain crossed for some time to come.

 

“I’m afraid your journey would become far more dangerous if I was travelling with you,” Hanzo replied with a shake of his head. “And, I would hate to remove you from your bed after everything you have done for me.”

 

“I find that two is far more capable of warding off danger than one traveller alone,” Zenyatta replied. “And I can conserve energy by powering down, but I do not, in fact, sleep, so I do not require a bed. You, on the other hand, would benefit greatly from it.”

 

Hanzo stared at the pillow contemplatively. Zenyatta could feel his desire to fall asleep there, sensing that he had not had the luxury of a proper bed in some time. However, under the desire was a strong wariness to accept the offer, a fear for the worst.

 

“Hanzo, I meant what I said – I have no desire to harm you,” Zenyatta repeated. “I merely wish to help.”

 

“With no repayment or personal gain?” Hanzo asked, raising an eyebrow. “You can understand my disbelief, can’t you?”

 

“I can, but I think trust tends to have some small element of disbelief within it, anyway.”

 

“What if we are attacked during the night?”

 

“When I power down, I don’t shut down completely. I have secondary sensors that alert me of additional presences in my immediate environment that I was otherwise unaware of,” Zenyatta explained. “Even when I am at rest, I am still alert. You can trust me, Hanzo, you are quite safe for tonight.”

 

Hanzo huffed a breath, his shoulder slumping in defeat or acceptance. He nodded. “I will stay here for tonight. Tomorrow, however, is another matter.”

 

“You don’t have to make a decision tonight. The offer will remain come sun up,” Zenyatta assured him. He hoped Hanzo would take it. Hanzo intrigued him, both in Genji’s tales and in person, and he wanted more time with him to learn and understand him better. While his offer to help and travel with Hanzo was genuine, Zenyatta did stand to gain from the arrangement, it just wasn’t necessarily in monetary or materialistic terms.

 

Hanzo sighed, pulling off his shirt and vest, and folding them on the nightstand. His bare chest and arms were revealed, marred with scars and bruises; on his left arm, a distinguishing tattoo of a dragon, a coiling blue creature surrounded by thunder clouds and lightning bolts. On his other arm, up near the curve of his shoulder, was the brand of the Shimada clan, long since burned and healed into his skin. Genji had once regaled him of the gruesome things the clan would do to their enemies, the brand of their symbol marking the bearer a traitor and an exile, and fair game for any Shimada ally across the seven continents.

 

Zenyatta was learning things about Hanzo already.

 

Hanzo swung his legs back up onto the bed and pulled the quilt over his legs. He had not removed his pants or his bracers, and his gaze dipped to his bow nearby – that trust was not so easily given. He shifted under the covers, trying to get comfortable. He tucked one hand under his head, then rested it on the covers, then pushed it under his head again. He looked up at the orb still hanging over his head, jerking his chin towards it. “Will that alter my sleep if it stays close to me?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Will it make me sleep deeper, or stop me dreaming?”

 

“It will keep your sleep peaceful,” Zenyatta explained. He looked at the orb he had given to Hanzo, channelling the energy Zenyatta accessed through a state of transcendence in order to heal and soothe. It would deplete as time went on, but at the moment the cost was small, and would not tax Zenyatta throughout the night. “Whether that means you will not dream or will dream differently, I cannot say, I do not know your dreams.”

 

Hanzo nodded thoughtfully, reaching up to run his fingertips over the surface of the orb.

 

Zenyatta watched him pluck the orb from the air, turning it in his fingers, tracing the lines and ridges with interest. The light scattered between his fingers, sending shadows to dance on the walls. “If you do not want for it to remain, it will return to me.”

 

“I think I would like it to stay,” Hanzo said, releasing it and letting it hang in the air above him. “I suppose I will simply have to trust you.”

 

“You don’t trust easily.”

 

“No, I don’t,” Hanzo replied with a frown. He drew the quilt over his chest and folded his arms on top of it, closing his eyes. “Goodnight, Zenyatta.”

 

“Goodnight, Hanzo. Pleasant dreams. Remember, the offer still stands.” Even as Zenyatta said it, he knew Hanzo would be gone in the morning, and was proven right when the first rays of light filtered through the shutters and fell on the empty bed beside him. He was not surprised: it had taken a long time before Genji trusted Zenyatta enough to accept his help, he expected no different from his brother.

 

Still, after developing such a strong relationship with Genji, it jarred Zenyatta to be back in the same position as he had been in so many years ago. He had not felt rejection in so long, it had faded in his memory to something like a dream. Mondatta would have scolded him had he still been alive, reminding Zenyatta that this was yet another lesson that he needed to learn and remember, and that things would not always turn out the way he wanted it.

 

Still, he’d had hope. If he could help one brother, surely, he could help the other.

 

 _It is arrogance, not optimism, to think that you can save everyone._ Mondatta’s scolding again.

It never stopped Zenyatta from trying.

 

He stared at the neatly made quilt, the pillow smoothed and set against the headboard. His borrowed healing orb sat in front of it, pinning a scrap of paper to the bed. He uncurled himself from his seated position, stretching his limbs as he walked up to the head of the bed, claiming his orb and the paper written with a precise but elegant scrawl.

 

_Well wishes on your journey, until our paths cross again._

 

The disappointment Zenyatta felt faded, replaced with something lighter, rereading the text before he rolled it up and tucked it carefully into his pocket. He had no doubt their paths would cross again. He looked forward to it with optimistic determination.


End file.
